


When Hands-On Lessons Get Out of Hand

by tacky_tramp



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Crossgen, Dubious Consent, F/F, Humor, love potion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-11
Updated: 2008-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacky_tramp/pseuds/tacky_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor McGonagall punishes Romilda Vane for the love potion mishap, and as in Transfiguration class, she likes to teach her lessons hands-on.  But things soon get altogether out of hand ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Hands-On Lessons Get Out of Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for pornish_pixies's The Internet is for Porn challenge.

Professor McGonagall peered over her spectacles. "Have a seat, Miss Vane."

With a petulant sigh, Romilda took the chair in front of the heavy, cluttered desk. It was a Saturday in March, and for the first time in ages the breezes outside were warm instead of wet. She'd been beating her friends at a lakeside game of Exploding Snap when one of the new Gryffindor prefects had summoned her to McGonagall's office. Her arms crossed over her vest, her leg jiggling under her plaid skirt, her mouth turned down in a pout, she made it quite clear that she would rather be anywhere but there.

"This is a detention, Miss Vane, and if you do not stop slouching and sighing, it could be the first of many. Sit up, please."

The girl complied with a roll of the eyes.

"Do you know why you're being punished?"

"I can't say that I do, Professor."

McGonagall folded her hands. "Gryffindor Prefect Ronald Weasley is in the hospital wing today, his seventeenth birthday, because he drank poisoned mead that was meant for someone else. Oh, I know you haven't been trying to murder anyone," she said quickly when Romilda began to protest, "but in the course of investigating today's events, I discovered that Mr. Weasley ingested something _else_ that wasn't meant for him. Miss Vane, did you recently give Harry Potter a box of chocolate cauldrons?"

Romilda's eyes narrowed, but she didn't answer.

"I take that as a 'yes,'" McGonagall continued. "I take it, also, that you know full well that those candies were spiked with a love potion -- purchased from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, of course. So, Miss Vane. What do you think would be an appropriate consequence for the drugging of a Gryffindor prefect and the attempted rape of a national hero?"

"_Rape?_" Romilda gasped, sitting bolt upright in her chair.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Yes, rape. Or did you intend, once handsome Harry Potter had fallen madly in love with you, merely to hold hands?"

A blush spread across the girl's cheeks and nose. She chewed her lip, but then insisted, "I would never have made him do anything he didn't want to ..."

"Come now, Miss Vane," McGonagall said brusquely. "While your marks are far from exceptional, and your ethics rather less refined that I would like, you are not a stupid girl. The victim of a love potion becomes utterly obsessed with the potion's maker. He or she loses control of him or herself and submits entirely to the beloved's whim. We call it rape when a man uses firewhiskey to wash away a woman's inhibitions, don't we? And a love potion is nearly as bad as the Imperius curse!" She leaned in, her face grave. "I take this _very_ seriously."

There was no more jiggling anymore below the schoolgirl skirt: Romilda sat stock-still, her face gone white. "What ... what are you going to do? I didn't. I mean. I wouldn't have ..."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Calm down, girl." With a wave of her wand, she conjured up a pot of tea and a cup. Romilda fell upon it thankfully, her fingers clutching the cup like a lifesaver and great gulps going down her terrified throat. "You're not going to Azkaban. As much as I'd love to see devious love-potioneers like you and Fred and George Weasley get a visit from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the aurors have more important things on their plate at the moment. Like arresting simple-minded bus drivers."

Licking her lips and breathing more calmly now, Romilda asked, "So what, then? Lines? Some horrid cleaning assignment?"

McGonagall rose primly and smoothed her green robes. In a few long, firm strides, she paced first to the window, then back to the desk, and then around the desk to stand behind Romilda. When she stopped there, a rare smile ghosted across her lips. "You're going to learn your lesson, Miss Vane."

A silent, still, pregnant moment passed -- and then the girl shivered and drew in a sharp breath. Wide-eyed, she looked up at her professor.

"Oh. _Oh._ Professor _McGonagall_."

"Yes, Miss Vane?"

Romilda's face went rapt. "_'Miss Vane.'_ You make me feel so deliciously grown-up when you say that. But -- oh --" and she grasped at the older woman's hand "-- may I call you _Minerva_?"

"That would be highly inappropriate," McGonagall said with a raised eyebrow. "For you are my student, and I am your teacher; you are a child, and I am an adult."

"I'm not a child!" Romilda cried. "I'm fifteen! And ... and you're so much more than my teacher. Or at least, I'd like you to be." She looked down shyly at the hand she was still holding. Suddenly, as though giving in to her fondest, most long-repressed desire, she brought the hand to her lips and covered it with kisses.

"Why, Miss Vane, what has come over you?"

She laughed brightly. "Oh, Professor -- Minerva -- beloved! The question isn't what's come over me. The question is, why didn't I see your beauty sooner? Why haven't I always known that we are meant to be together?" Romilda stood and clasped McGonagall's hand to her bosom. "Will you -- will you say you feel the same?"

"Romilda, you're a handsome enough girl, but --"

An ear-splitting squeal issued from Romilda's mouth like a clap of thunder. "You think I'm _handsome_! Oh, I've never gotten such a compliment! And from you, so world-traveled and wise! Why you've probably had hundreds of lovers -- the brilliant, the wealthy, the famous, all falling at your feet."

McGonagall couldn't keep down an uncomfortable giggle. She avoided the girl's eyes and tried to pull her hand away, but Romilda gripped it persistently. She kept babbling, too, about beautiful black hair and soft skin and moonlit Scottish nights. "You must think I'm a silly thing," she said, "and maybe you're afraid for your position. I can keep secrets! Oh, for you, Minerva, I could keep a _thousand_ secrets for a _million_ years. Just, please -- one kiss." And she closed her eyes like a heroine in a romance, and leaned in dramatically.

"All right, Miss Vane, this has gone quite far enough." With a decisive tug, McGonagall wrested her hand out of the girl's fevered embrace. She adjusted her glasses, which had gone askew in the fuss. "Perhaps this was ill-advised. I gave you a love potion similar to the one you tried to use on Harry Potter, in hopes of showing you the power of the thing, and how it overrules one's sense of propriety and puts one entirely under the control of the potionmaker. Why, you'd do anything I asked of you right now."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Anything at all, my most delicate heather-blossom. I'd even ..." She lowered her voice to a throaty murmur. "I'd even _go all the way_ with you."

"That's exactly my point. Now, take your seat, and --"

But Romilda wasn't listening anymore. She grasped McGonagall by the arms and pushed her roughly against the wall. Their faces were close, close enough for Romilda's breath to move the tendrils of her teacher's hair, which had begun coming loose from under her hat. "Oh, Minerva," she sighed. "_'That's exactly the point.'_ I knew you wanted me." She parted her lips, and despite the squirming protestations of her target, laid a kiss on the mouth before her.

Professor McGonagall froze. Her wand lay across the room on the cluttered desk, and Romilda's surprisingly strong hands had her immobilized. "So sweet," the girl was murmuring as she ran her tongue along McGonagall's closed, tense lips. "Everything I've imagined, everything I've ever wanted." Without loosening her grip, she managed to stretch out a thumb and -- McGonagall gasped -- brush her breast and the nipple hidden beneath layers of fabric. "Yes," Romilda hissed. "Want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. Let me ... let me touch you everywhere."

"All right," McGonagall squeaked.

Romilda stopped, pulled back, and stared. "Do you mean that? You'll let me pleasure you? You'll let me show you how much I love you?"

McGonagall's breath was coming short and hard. "Yes, Miss Vane. Er, Romilda. We shall ... _make love_." She held up a hand to halt the girl's renewed advance. "But not up against this wall!"

"Anywhere you want," Romilda breathed.

"Er ..." She looked around frantically. "The desk, perhaps. Yes, let's move over toward the desk, my dear. No, no, don't push me down onto it. You sit there, take a rest, you've had such an exhausting afternoon."

Romilda obeyed, hopping up onto the desk and wiggling her bottom impatiently. "Oooooh, Minerva, come here. I want to feel you in my arms. I want to feel you against my -- my -- my _pussy_." Brazen at the sound of the word coming from her own lips, she raked her fingernails up her bare thighs and began lifting the hem of her skirt.

"Just a moment!" McGonagall exclaimed, averting her gaze in terror. "I feel so thirsty all of a sudden. Don't you feel thirsty?"

"Mmmm, yes, I feel so _hot_. My body is burning with love for you. Come feel how my -- my -- my _pussy_ is throbbing."

The professor was rummaging in the cabinet behind the desk. "I'm throbbing, as well," she said absently, and then cried, "Ah ha! I have just the thing." With all speed, she uncorked a cloudy vial. She smiled broadly, even seductively, and offered it to Romilda.

"To you, my love," the girl purred, and she drank deeply from the vial.

It only took a moment for the antidote to work, and for the terrible reality of the situation to dawn on her.

McGonagall gave a bewildered sigh and straightened her pointed hat. "Have you ... have you learned your lesson, Miss Vane?"

Romilda looked down over herself, pulled her skirt back down over her legs, and nodded miserably.

"Well, then." A quill and sheet of parchment appeared on the desk. "I think you know what to write."

The girl took her seat, picked up the quill, and as tears of shame filled her eyes, began to copy:

_I must not use love potions, for love potions are rape.   
I must not use love potions, for love potions are rape.   
I must not use love potions ..._


End file.
